Hughson A-Z: Licit
by deeedeee
Summary: SPOILERLERRRT for s6e1. A riff on that scene at the end of the episode. [Licit: conforming to the requirements of the law; not forbidden; permissible]


_SPOILERLERRT for S6e1. This is a bit overdue but hey, here ya go! My little one-shot take on the scene at the end of the episode. I'm clearing out the plot bunnies! in preparation for other plot bunnies. Here ya go!_

 _Thank you so much for your reviews and tumblr love! xoxox_

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 **Licit: conforming to the requirements of the law; not forbidden; permissible**

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They've been avoiding each other for days now (weeks, it feels like _)_ ; that much is certain. But now — it seems right, it seems time, it seems — oh with the Bateses' good news and at last the opportunity to be alone in a room with him (it's felt entirely too precarious, sitting up with him for sherry at night, and she's fled his company so many times now, it embarrasses her to think of it) — he's given Daisy quite the scolding — and she's soothed the girl. As if they were her parents. It isn't the first time she's had that thought about their downstairs family. But it's never been quite so blatant as it was just now.

Daisy closes the door as she leaves, and he's already suggesting they rejoin the others.

It costs her a fair bit of courage to say three stupid little words. Her voice shakes, but she's got no time to worry about that.

"Before we do..."

She can barely look at him. Mostly it's due to nerves, but oh, she's never seen him look like this before. He's physically turning away from her, pulling away, shutting her out. _Cowering_ , she thinks wildly. How horrid to see it in such a proud, dear man.

She's right; he is indeed turning away, shielding himself from the likelihood of everything falling away and revealing his dream to be a sham. The mad ramblings of a sad old fool. He's never been so terrified in his life. Not when he was asking her. Not even when they thought she was ill!

Yet somehow the crushing feeling of loss (worse even than loss, it's the slipping away of something he's wanted for so long and that finally seemed possible) keeps him outwardly calm while his stomach churns. He tells himself he should have known better than to believe it. That he should have known she could never want him, not as he wants her.

His calm, cracking facade is even more strained as he faces her and sees her breathless, flushed, much as he's dreamed of her, her cheeks pink — but _this is not that_ , he shouts at himself; she isn't flushed with desire but with embarrassment.

When she tells him she's not shocked, it's a benediction. A salve, right there in the soft tones of her voice and her delicate pronunciation of the word. Now he's rushing on, something about inveigling her into an agreement that she doesn't expect (doesn't _want_ , more like, but he can't quite bring himself to say the word). It feels like every word falling from his mouth is making it worse.

Oh dear god. She's saying she'd never have thought that of him and it seems so horribly _final_ that he rushes to absolve her of any... debt to him. _Obligation_ , he corrects himself. "Debt" sounds far too lewd.

No need to announce it, either; he'd never embarrass her like that. And if he starts to hear bad talk ( _or even if there's no talk at all, face it, Charlie_ ), well then he'll shout them all down if need be, then he'll make his quiet and stately way to his pantry, lock the door, and drink his port in solitude, knowing that at least he's never forced her into anything.

He starts to turn away. He's barely been able to look at her, and now he's said his piece and they can part ways. He'll leave her in peace in his pantry and go up to his room and sit and wait for sleep. ( _And have a good cry, Charlie_ , but it'll do no good to think of that now. He won't burden her with his own stupid private pain, especially after making such demands on her.)

She's been standing there in horror, watching him break his own heart in front of her. He can't have seen the look on her face, because then surely he wouldn't be saying these things. A little sound escapes her throat: a small struggled beginning of a " _no" t_ hat skitters out and ends before it begins.

There's a way to fix this. She's just got to make it happen.

"You misunderstand me."

His breath pauses and he dares look at her, but only just.

And now she's saying something that makes no sense. A disappointment? No hope of pleasing him? Thank heaven she's left room for him to correct all of it. He feels relief rush through him ( _careful, Charlie, this is dangerous ground, you don't know for sure but at least you can give her this_ ).

He's shaking but it's such a relief to say it. He's never been so sure of _anything_. There. Now she has to know; she simply _must_ understand and believe him and now oh my Lord is she actually saying what he thinks he's hearing?

"If you want me, you can have me."

She's thrilled and terrified and so eager to say her piece (and so excited, heavens, she'd never been so bold in all her days!) that she's trembling ( _quoting Oliver Cromwell for some reason, heavens, Elsie_ ) and making big eyes at him like she hasn't done at anyone in decades. Maybe some silly boy got that look from her when she was a girl, but ah, that was just schoolyard stuff, ages ago. This… this is excruciatingly real.

But she holds his gaze, looking her fill of him because now he… he's… oh… he's looking at her like he never has before, all dark eyes and passion — and he's coming closer, is… is he going to…?

 _He is._ And she's stock-still, heart pounding. His hand is at her cheek and she might have leaned into it and kissed his palm if not for him leaning in, tilting his head, and _oh yes._

She reaches up to kiss him back. His lips on hers draw a soft, high hum from her throat that she immediately quiets, but he hasn't pulled back at that so... maybe he liked it? She doesn't know. But there's no time to think of that silliness because he's pulled away ( _too quickly_ ) and all she can do is look up at him, feeling tiddly and unbalanced from the excitement rushing through her. His expression of profound relief and joy gives her the strange impression that gravity has ceased to work on her, and her eyes slide closed again as he pulls her toward him and kisses her forehead.

She's felt so exposed, tormented by uncertainty about him _seeing_ her — and as he puts his arms around her for the first time ever, it all falls away.

He's kissed her. Dear god, he's kissed her and she's let him and she's even kissed him _back_. And then that little sound she made! Did he imagine it? Surely not, he tells himself.

He wonders if she can feel his thumping heart through all of their clothing. Or in his cheek where he rests it against her forehead. But he dismisses that: It doesn't matter. Because all will be well.

* * *

 _mwah_


End file.
